The Man Who Killed Batman
by raphael-medina
Summary: A gunshot rings out, screams fill the air, and a hero falls. Who is the mystery man behind the murder? What was his motivation? How will Gotham City, and the Dark Knight's greatest foes, deal with the death of the man who was their friend and enemy?
1. The Infamous Bobby Billiard

Today was a day of celebration in Gotham City. A new mayor was being sworn in and the winds of change could be felt blowing through the city streets. Hamilton Hill, the former mayor of Gotham City, had been killed by the Clock King six months ago and the city decided to hold an emergency reelection to replace him. The Batman broke his usual silence and displayed his personal endorsement of Marion Grange for Mayor. Years ago, Marion Grange had served as the district attorney for Gotham City until a change of heart, and a loss to a young upstart named Harvey Dent, led her to becoming the head of the public defender's office. With Batman's endorsement, and a campaign funded by billionaire Bruce Wayne, Grange won the election by a landslide. Today she has a special present for one of Gotham City's finest citizens: today she is presenting the vigilante hero Batman the key to the city, an award she believes he has earned many times over. No one knows of today's ceremony outside of a very privileged few.

Bobby Billiard was not one of those privileged few, but still he knew. Bobby Billiard was no one special: he was not a police officer or a politician. Bobby Billiard had never met the mayor, or talked with the chief of police. Bobby Billiard was not a criminal: he had never been arrested for trafficking drugs or murdering a man. Bobby Billiard's name was not in the CODIS database, and he had never been seen in the company of any gang members. Bobby Billiard was an ordinary man with an ordinary wife and two ordinary kids. Bobby Billiard wore an ordinary white t-shirt, ordinary blue jeans, and combed his hair in an ordinary fashion. Bobby Billiard had never served in the United States military and had never fired a gun, but in his ordinary hands he held a military grade sniper rifle. Bobby Billiard was an ordinary man with an extraordinary secret: Bobby Billiard was going to kill the Batman.

Bobby Billiard sat in the tight corner of a pale loft that he had rented just for this special day, his precious rifle clutched tight against his chest. The plain white walls seemed to be closing in on him, and he knew that the time for betrayal was close at hand. He pushed his horn-rimmed glasses back up the bridge of his nose and wiped the anticipatory sweat from his brow. His mind raced with thoughts ranging from how could he pull this off to where would he run after the deed had been done: but none of those thoughts truly mattered, did they? The only thought that mattered was the simple truth contained inside that tiny insignificant bullet.

Bobby Billiard threw his head back against the wall, his mind conflicted over what he was doing and why. "I'm no criminal," Bobby Billiard thought to himself. "But they will all remember my name, won't they?" He slowly rose from his seated position and began a slow romp toward the windowsill. "Sure, I'm not a crazy like the joker, or a brain like the Riddler, but the people will always remember the name Bobby Billiard." The window he now stood before overlooked the podium in Gotham Central Square, where the mayor would hold her public presentation to Batman. Billiard raised the gun to position and pointed it at the spot where he felt Batman would be standing in a few short minutes. "BANG!" he shouted, simulating the recoil effect that would send him shuffling back a few feet. "And that will be the end of it. And the name Bobby Billiard will go down in history as the man who killed Batman!"

The delusional man began to pace around the room, planning his daring escape from the loft and down the fire escape. He knew that he made a crucial mistake renting the loft in his name and that he would not elude police for long. But his goal was not to escape: in fact, it was quite the opposite, he wanted to be captured. He wanted his picture in every paper underneath a big bold headline that read **BOBBY BILLIARD, THE MAN WHO KILLED BATMAN, APPREHENDED**. He even believed that he would be assissting the Batman. He told himself how he would be helping him to transcend his earthly body and become a legend, immortalized for all time in the annals of history. Look at John F. Kennedy and Martin Luther King Jr. They were famous men in life, but did not gain the ultimate form of notoriety until they left this world in a bang. But even more famous than those men, were the ones who took their lives: Lee Harvey Oswald and James Earl Ray. After today, one more name would join those prestigious ranks: Bobby Billiard, the man who killed Batman.

Suddenly the small fourth story loft was filled with the delightful tones of the police band. The celebration had begun and Bobby Billiard flew to his window perch and stared down at the podium. Balloons rose to the heavens as newly inaugurated Mayor Grange marched toward her michrophone accompanied by a police escort. Billiard cursed slightly as the brightly colored balloons clouded his line of sight. The balloons quickly dispersed and Billiard tried desperately to calm his rapid breathing: he needed his hands to be steady to aim when the time came. A thin smile crept over his face as he listened to Mayor Grange introduce her mystery guest. She tried to hide his identity as she spoke of how this man had made Gotham City a safer place to live by appearing when the city needed him most. Her riveting words drew cries of acceptance and hate alike from the crowd, and Bobby Billiard's lip began to quiver in excitement: he could almost taste the blood of the Bat.

And then, like a God descending from on high, the Batman floated down from the sky. His great cape unfolding in the breeze, cast an ominous, dark, shadow over the city. He landed on the platform with all the grace of a beautiful butterfly and a hush fell over the crowd. Children whimpered and parents held their breath, overwhelmed with fear at the imposing sight of the master vigilante. Bobby Billiard stared at the Batman in awe, his eyes opened wide in wonder. He examined the suit and the symbol and contemplated how different he looked in the daylight. At night, the Batman was a creature of shadow and an invincible phantom, but now, with the sun blazing down upon him, the Batman was no more a creature than Mayor Grange, Commissioner Gordon or even Bobby Billiard. The Batman's stoic gaze passed over the crowd and eventually came to a window where Bobby Billiard stood poised to fire at any moment.

In a flash, Bobby Billiard lowered the rifle to his side and scurried away from the window. His breath left him and he fell to one knee, wheezing and coughing uncontrollably. From his pocket, he drew a small red inhaler and brought it to his lips. He struggled to draw in a breath deep enough for the medication to open his airway, but eventually oxygen returned to his airway. For a moment, he wondered to himself, _could Batman see me? Could Batman see the gun?_ He wondered if, perhaps, he should give up this futile task and turn away now, while he still had the chance. But if the Batman had seen him, then police would most certainly be on their way, and Bobby Billiard would still be arrested, his picture in every newspaper under the headline **BOBBY BILLIARD, THE MAN WHO ALMOST KILLED BATMAN, APPREHENDED.** No, Bobby Billiard did not come this far only to be stopped now. His name WOULD go down in history and so he, again, steadied his breathing and drew up his rifle.

By now, the Batman was standing at the head of the platform, speaking into a small microphone. He addressed the citizens of Gotham City and lamented to them his sorrow at the sight of Gotham City so many years ago. He expressed how he had heard the unspoken call of the people and felt compelled to answer it himself. Batman spoke to them of the many deeds he had accomplished that had only been possible thanks to the faithful and diligent cooperation of the Gotham City Police Department. He thanked Mayor Grange for the illustrious honor bestowed upon him, and he acknowledged Police Commissioner James Gordon for his many, storied, years of support. What the Batman planned to say next will forever remain a mystery, for just as he parted his lips to speak, a gunshot rang out from a small fourth story window and a single insignificant bullet pierced the skull of Gotham City's dark knight. The people screamed, the police scrambled to the loft, and Batman simply fell to the ground, his body a lifeless mass of muscle and flesh.

Bobby Billiard lowered the rifle to his side, and then let it drop harmlessly to the ground. For a moment, he pondered over the escape route he had fashioned in his mind, wondering if he should run now while he may yet have a chance to escape. But his gaze was fixed on the Batman. He watched the blood pool around Batman's skull and his sadistic smile widened. Bobby Billiard had seen the bullet shoot from the barrel of the gun in slow motion, and felt a burst of erotic pleasure as the bullet entered Batman's cranium. Even now, Bobby Billiard continued to admire his handiwork: his reflection in the glass showed his sick grin and blazing eyes, the bullet hole off to the right of his image. He heard the resounding steps of the police as they came barging up the stairs to arrest him. Rather than turn to fight or plead his innocence, Bobby Billiard merely dropped to his knees, slowly and calmly, and placed both hands on the top of his head. He heard the police officers shatter the wooden door to the loft with a battering ram, but still he sat like a statue. The officers swarmed on him like vultures to their prey, slamming Bobby Billiard face first into the hardwood flooring. Bobby Billiard did not resist arrest and the police handcuffed him without incident. They dragged him out of the loft by the collar of his shirt and let his body bounce along the stairs, not bothering to pick up the coward who had killed their hero.

Commissioner James Gordon collected the rifle and paused for a moment to look down at the body of his friend and ally. He gently ran his fingers over the hole in the glass, his heart sinking with every moment he gazed upon the scene unfolding below him. A single glistening tear rolled down his cheeks as he wondered what kind of sick, twisted, evil, demented fuck could commit such a crime.

Bobby Billiard was not one of those privileged few, but still he knew. Bobby Billiard was no one special: he was not a police officer or a politician. Bobby Billiard had never met the mayor or talked with the chief of police. Bobby Billiard was not a criminal: he had never been arrested for trafficking drugs or murdering a man. Bobby Billiard's name was not in the CODIS database and he had never been seen in the company of any gang members. Bobby Billiard was an ordinary man with an ordinary wife and two ordinary children. Bobby Billiard wore an ordinary white t-shirt and ordinary blue jeans and combed his hair in an ordinary fashion. Bobby Billiard had never served in the United States military and had never fired a gun, but in his ordinary hands he held a military grade sniper rifle. Bobby Billiard was an ordinary man with an extraordinary secret: Bobby Billiard was the man who killed Batman.


	2. The Aftermath

The interrogation room in Gotham Central was a small cold room with one way mirrors on either wall. Moths flew around in the dingy air, panicking with the loss of what little light they had had outside. There were fluorescent lights on the ceiling, but they were not on right now. A putrid stench rose up from the floor: a combination of vomit and blood, as if this room were used more for torture than intelligence. In the center of the room, six feet from the door and six more to the back wall, there was a metal table hinged to the ground and an accompanying metal chair. A desk lamp sat on the corner of the table, flickering on and off like Morse code. There were no sounds in the room currently: except the steady breathing of one of Gotham City's most brilliant criminal masterminds, the likes of which had never been seen before.

The heavy steel door to the room creaked open and the overhead lights burst on unexpectedly. Bobby Billiard, the man who killed Batman, seemed unaffected by the light and kicked his feet up on the table nonchalantly. Two police officers came into the room, slamming the door behind them. One cop was a grizzled veteran with a thick moustache and glasses and the other was a middle aged behemoth of a man. The two men circled Bobby Billiard like vultures, scowling at him like the scavengers they were in his mind. The larger of the two men lit a cigarette and leaned up against the wall behind where Billiard sat while the older gentlemen stood in front of the table. Commissioner James Gordon slapped Billiard's heavy black boots off the table and leaned his face in close to the killer's.

"Good evening, Mr. Billiard. My name is-"

"I know who you are, Commissioner." Billiard said sarcastically, cutting off the chief of police. "And I know you too, Inspector Bullock. Now, if I'm not wrong, this is the part where you two beat me until I confess, right?" Just as Gordon opened his mouth to speak Billiard shouted, "Wrong! Let me just save you the trouble and confess. I did it, I shot the Batman." Bobby Billiard leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms over his chest, and gave Gordon the dirtiest, go to hell look anyone had ever seen.

Chief Inspector Harvey Bullock, so angry at his disrespect, was on Billiard in a flash, grabbing him in a headlock and tossing him to the ground. He raised his gigantic fist to strike the delusional young man but the commissioner grabbed his arm in mid-air. Gordon shook his head and so Bullock instead lifted the scrawny prisoner with one hand and slammed him against the wall. Hand over Billiard's throat Inspector Bullock growled, "I just want to know one thing, freak job, before I turn you over to the rest of those crazies in Arkham: how in the hell did you do it?"

"Well that's easy, Inspector," Billiard stated calmly and rationally. "You see, I bought a gun, carried it to a loft I rented and BANG!" Bobby Billiard found his story uncontrollably funny and went into a fit of laughing. In a rage, Bullock flipped the lunatic over his shoulder and sent him crashing onto the table on his spine, his head hanging over the edge. Bullock then proceeded to slap Billiard so hard that his mouth filled with blood and a tooth flew slid across the floor.

"Don't be a smartass with me, Punk. How did you find out the Batman was going to be there?" Bullock saw the look on his superior's face and decided to sit down in the chair and give Billiard a second to speak between blows. He didn't know why the Batman's death was affecting him so strongly: when he was alive, Bullock had hated the Batman. Perhaps it was only now, in death, that he could fully understand what the Batman had truly meant to Gotham City, and to him.

Bobby Billiard didn't say a word. He just lay there, flat on his back, staring at the cracks in the ceiling. Finally he picked himself up and glared at inspector Bullock, who was still sitting in his chair facing him. "Just think about it, Bullock; who's gonna remember your name when you die. Sure your name will live on with your children and your grandchildren, but what about after that. Hmm? Who is going to remember your name one hundred years from now!?"

"They're gonna kill you in Arkham, buddy. You succeeded where they all failed. And they are gonna eat you up," Bullock said to the psychotic man lying on the interrogation table.

"They'll remember my name, though! 'The infamous Bobby Billiard,' they'll call me, 'the man who killed Batman!'"

Bullock shook his head, picked himself up from his chair, and followed his boss out of the interrogation room. As they closed the door behind them, all they could hear were the sick cries of a psychotic mind. Gordon wanted so badly to open the door, pull out his gun and show Bobby Billiard what it felt like to play Batman in his sick little plan. He wanted to spill the kid's guts all over that interrogation room: but he knew that he wouldn't, because he couldn't. If he did that, then Bobby Billiard would win. He would get to them all, just like he had planned.

"I don't think he's faking crazy, the miserable little shit. What about you, Jimmy?" Harvey Bullock asked, watching Bobby Billiard through a monitor to the interrogation room.

"I think you're right. But there's not a damn thing we can do about it, except try to pick up the pieces." Gordon said calmly.

"Hey boss, I got some interesting information on our killer," Lieutenant Vincent Del Arrazzio ran up behind his two superior officers brandishing documents about the prisoner. "Says here that Billiard works as a mail clerk in the mayor's office and has for about twenty years. He works in the basement, alone, no supervision necessary, and has access to every piece of mail that comes through that building."

"Son of a-"Gordon began, his jaw nearly hitting the floor in shock.

"So that's how he knew, sneaky bastard. The mayor had to ask the governor's permission to give Batman the key to the city and I guess she did it by mail." Bullock stood there flabbergasted for a moment as he took in the gravity of what he had just said. "And looking through other people's mail is a federal offense, so we got him on that too. Give me those papers," Bullock snatched the paperwork from the lieutenant's hands and started toward the interrogation room to bust Billiard with their new evidence.

"Wait a minute, Harvey. Arrazzio let him rot in there for a couple of hours then move him to a solitary detention cell. Then we will bring our new evidence to him, after he's a bit more stir crazy," Gordon advised. With a deep sigh, the commissioner turned to the monitors and observed Bobby Billiard for the first time. He still couldn't fathom how this all came to pass; how an ordinary man like Billiard came to do the unthinkable. If he had seen Bobby Billiard walking the streets of Gotham, he would never have taken a second glance. Bobby Billiard did not fit the profile of a normal lunatic that had a grudge against the Bat. But then Gordon realized the fatal flaw; this was inevitable. With all the lunatics in Gotham City, the police and Batman paid no attention to the people like Bobby Billiard. Not all killers wear masks and tights, they had just been too blind to notice that.

Suddenly, a young redheaded girl in a wheelchair flew into the room where a dozen cops were standing. "Where is my father?" she shouted. "Daddy!" she cried, disregarding the people she bumped into as she flew through the control room. Jim Gordon recognized the voice as belonging to his daughter Barbara and turned to face her. She threw herself from her chair and into her father's loving arms, where she stayed for a moment and cried. Finally she looked into her father's eyes and asked him, "Is it true, daddy? Is he really gone?" Gordon couldn't bear the sight of his daughter, so he dropped his eyes to the floor before nodding his head. He helped her back into her chair and walked away from her silently, leaving her to her tears. Harvey Bullock decided to help the girl he considered his niece out of the building, gently stroking her hair in an attempt to calm her nerves.

As they passed the threshold of Gotham Central and emerged into the dark streets of the city, what they saw overhead brought a tear even to the eye of the emotionless Harvey Bullock. In the sky, shining like a beacon of hope was the famous Bat-signal. For years, that symbol told the citizens of Gotham City that their streets were safe and the Batman was on patrol. But now that symbol was a reminder of what they had lost only twelve short hours ago. Barbara pushed herself away from Harvey Bullock and down the dismal trek toward home. She felt a shiver of fear that she had not known in years as she ventured into the shadows: she knew that this time there was no silent guardian watching over her.

Police Commissioner James Gordon, a long time ally and friend of the Batman, stood in front of the floodlight known as the Bat-signal and let a tear of regret roll down his cheek. He knew the real reason his daughter cried so, but he could never tell her the truth. Many years ago James had deduced the Batman's real identity, but knew that he could never say that he had or risk having to arrest the man he believed to be such a hero. That was why it pained him so to see his daughter date the billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne. It was not the twelve year age gap, like he pretended, or the man's notorious conduct: it was this. He knew that this day would come eventually and prayed his daughter would never be close enough to know the truth.

But then there was the heroine known as Batgirl. She saved the Batman from a perilous encounter with the villainess Poison Ivy and became a full-fledged member of the Batman team. Jim knew the truth no matter how well his daughter tried to hide it. He could see in her eyes the look that was only present in people who had seen the darker side of truth. He thought that this nightmare had ended when the Joker severed her spinal cord and left her confined to a wheelchair: this had to be the moment when she would grow away from Batman, for her own good. And he thought that she had given up on heroics, until the appearance of the super hacker Codename Oracle. James knew this was his daughter because of a story she had written in the ninth grade about a similar such character. No matter how hard James had tried to save his little girl, it hadn't worked, and now she was as heartbroken as he was.

"He ain't coming boss…" Harvey Bullock said as he exited the elevator and joined Gordon on the roof. "No matter how bad we want him to, he ain't coming…"

"I know, Harv… I know…" James swung around and looked dead into the eyes of his old partner. "But I wish he was."

"I think we all do, Jim… I think we all do…" The two cops looked over the edge of Gotham Central and scanned the night sky. It was darker than usual: a perfect night for the Bat to strike. The crescent moon sat poised in the center of sky like an arrow, piercing the darkness: but it brought no comfort on this most somber of nights. As the two men stared over the horizon, they almost believed they saw a figure gliding across the roof, cape flapping in the wind. But a second glance confirmed their fear: a second glance revealed it to be nothing but the shadows playing a trick on them…

************************************************************************

The heavy steel door to the interrogation room was flung open once again, and Bobby Billiard shielded his eyes from the lights he knew were coming on any second. But the room remained in darkness and an eerie smoke glided into the room. Outside he heard a faint coughing sound that quickly faded into silence. He started to climb onto his chair when he saw a figure enter the doorway.

"Oh please don't get up, Bobby; I'm not here to hurt you. I've just come to invite you to a little party I'm throwing for a mutual friend of ours," spoke the ominous figure at the doorway. He walked toward Bobby Billiard ever so slowly and a slight chortle could be heard escaping his lips.

"Who are you?" Bobby Billiard asked, his teeth beginning to chatter ever so slightly.

"Me? Why, I'm your biggest fan, Bobby! I'm here to break you out, friend," the stranger replied.

"Friend? Who do you think I am?" the young killer asked, his voice starting to croak at the end of the sentence.

"Well you are THE Bobby Billiard right, or do I have the wrong place." The stranger's feet could be heard turning around and heading out the door.  
"No, no, I'm Bobby Billiard, but what do you want with me?" Suddenly Bobby Billiard became frozen with fear as the desk lamp flashed on and the light glistened off of a knife in the stranger's hand. The stranger became to laugh a sick, twisted laugh like that of the devil as he tossed the knife from hand to hand, taunting Billiard with its existence.

"What are you gonna do with that, Mister?" Bobby Billiard cried, his voice shaking

"This?" the stranger asked, glancing down at the knife. "I'm just going to help… you… SMILE!" the stranger leapt onto the small metal table and grabbed Bobby Billiard by his collar. The light flashed off again and the only sound in the cold room was the terrified scream of the infamous Bobby Billiard. Then, in the silence, footsteps quietly ran toward the exit: another sound, a scraping, dragging sound closely followed the footsteps. Just as the smoke lifted from the control room, Harvey Bullock and James Gordon exited the elevator and, to their complete shock, saw the interrogation room door wide open. Bullock ran to the door while Gordon examined the body of one of his fallen comrades.

"Bullock, you're going to want see this…" Gordon stood up and pointed down at the body of Lieutenant Vincent Del Arrazzio, covering his mouth with his hand and stifling back his vomit. Arrazzio was unharmed, no bullet holes or stab wounds: but his face was a pale white, the skin around his mouth pulled back into a sadistic, yet all too familiar, smile.

"Shit, I got more bad news for you too, Gordon. Billiard's gone."


	3. Going Home

Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to pay our respects to our greatest rival, and dearest friend, the Batman…

Bobby Billiard slowly opened his eyes to a world of cold, damp darkness. He felt enclosed, unable to move his arms and legs no matter how he tried. He tried to speak, to scream for help, but nothing came from his lips but a dull whisper. His face was in searing pain, and he could feel the blood caking his cheeks. A feeling of dread overpowered Bobby Billiard as he remembered his encounter with the stranger inside of the interrogation room. Desperately trying to decipher where he was, Billiard listened closely to the outside world but all he could hear were muffled footsteps and an ominous, booming, voice.

Outside of Bobby Billiard's cold, solitary existence, four men in clown masks stood on a steel bridge overlooking several chemical vats on the ground. They were surrounding a brown pine box and looked as if they were waiting for some signal on what to do with said box. Suddenly a young woman, dressed up like a jester, somersaulted to the top of a set of stairs with a trumpet in her left hand. She blew the trumpet as if to call a kingdom to attention as their lord and master approached. Clearing her throat, the young woman took a bow and prepared to introduce her king.

"Lords and ladies, kings and peasants, I give to you the Maestro of Madness, the Doctor of Devious Deeds, the Clown Prince of Crime, Mistah J, THE JOKER!" the court jester quickly pulled out a bottle of confetti and threw it into the sky as she shouted the numerous names her master had come to be known by over the years. From the shadows came the sound of applause as one man emerged, giving himself a standing ovation. He wore a three-piece purple suit with a green vest and an orange shirt and a green string tie was wrapped around his neck. His skin was a sickly white and his eyes seemed to glow a devilish red like the eyes of the devil. His eyes seemed to sink into his skull and from his lips extended two scars curving up like a permanent, bloody, red, smile. Unkempt, dirty green hair, parted on the left side, fell down to drape his shoulder.

"Thank you, Harley, for that rousing introduction." The Joker sauntered over to his beloved Harley Quinn, dipped her low to the ground and leaned in as if to give her the kiss of a lifetime. But then, right before their lips were to meet, he dropped the poor girl and skipped away from her. He laughed when she hit the ground and said, "Now, now, Harley, this is no time for making whoopee, we've got guests. Boys, bring me our guest of honor."

The Joker skipped down the stairs as his henchmen broke open the pine box on the ground and pulled from it the body of the Joker's arch nemesis, the Batman. Harley Quinn picked herself up off the ground and tumbled down the stairs to stand beside her beloved as the henchmen struggled with the costumed vigilante. The Batman they pulled from the coffin coughed and tried to pull himself away from his captors. The henchmen eventually came to stand the Batman in front of his coffin and face to face with the Clown Prince of Crime.

"Boys, is this a joke? I thought the Batman was dead," The Joker walked up to the Batman and realized that he stood six inches taller than the costumed vigilante in front of him. He also examined the scars on his face and how similar they were to his own. "Boy oh boy, Bats, I don't remember you being so short, and I don't think I've ever seen you smile. I must say, it's a good look for you if I may say so myself," the Joker howled with laughter and forced his henchmen to laugh with him. Then in a random moment, the Joker stopped laughing completely and slapped the Batman right across his jaw. "Why don't you laugh, Batsy? Can't you see the funny side of things?"

"I know who you are, J-" the Batman stuttered, unable to finish the final word. The Joker coaxed his nemesis to say his name, waving his hand in a playful way. "J-J-Jo-" the Batman continued to struggle with forming words, his scarred face paining him with every muscle contraction.

The Joker punched him once more in the face, this time sending him flying to the ground, "Who am I?" The henchmen picked up the Batman and one held up his head by pulling up on his mask.

"Joker…" the Batman mumbled.

"What was that?" the Joker asked, leaning his ear in close to the Batman's mouth.

"J-Joker…"

"That's more like it, Batsy!" the Joker sprang into the air, laughing and celebrating at the sound of his name emanating from the lips of his archenemy. He landed on the ground and quickly snuck up next to the Batman in a hug putting his cheek against the Batman's. "I know you're secret, Batman. I know who you are."

"No… No… I'm not…" the Batman tried to whisper, still unable to form words.

"Shh, Bats, its ok, don't try to speak. I know what you're going through. It's always hard trying to adjust to your first smile." The Joker lips began to crack and bleed, and the Joker licked his lips in anticipation. "You're probably wondering why I brought you here, right Bats? Well, you see, I never got to say good-bye to you, and I didn't quite think that was fair. So, here we go, Batsy," the Joker drew a small knife from an interior pocket on his vest, and then kissed the Batman on the cheek. "Good-bye Batman."

"No, don't…" the Batman protested as the Joker jammed the knife into his rival's stomach. With an uncaring gaze, the Joker watched his enemy's eyes as he wrenched and turned the dull rusted blade inside of him. He watched as the life seemed to escape his body and then pushed the Batman back into the plain pine casket he had been pulled from. The henchmen quietly placed the lid back on the box and obediently looked up to their boss.

"Take care of him, boys. Send the Batman home." The Joker turned and began to walk away from the scene as nonchalantly as he had arrived. Harley Quinn watched as the henchmen tossed the casket over the edge of the bridge and sent it crashing into a vat of viscous white chemical waste. The haunting scream of Bobby Billiard filled the air as the casket fell from the bridge, but the sound disappeared when he hit the liquid. His voice was drowned out by the chemicals, but the pained scream would haunt all who were present for the rest of their lives. The Joker could see Bobby Billiard in that casket, fighting to scream as his lungs filled with chemical waste, and felt satisfaction engulf him. As he exited the plant, he looked up at the sign which read "Ace Chemical Refinery," and smiled. His vengeance had been wrought; he had killed the Batman.

"What do you want to do now, Mistah J?" Harley Quinn asked her lover, kissing him on the cheek and hanging on his arm. The Joker stopped dead in his tracks and looked into her innocent eyes, seeing if she felt anything for what she had just seen. Harley nodded before he even said a word and began to lead him off in the direction of Arkham Asylum.

"Take me home, Harley."


	4. The Word of a God

Three days had passed since the passing of one of Gotham City's most iconic and powerful individuals and the time had come for his public funeral. Hundreds of people, nay thousands, gathered from all over Gotham City and the world to mourn the loss of the hero known as Batman. Heroes and villains alike gathered together in peace on this melancholy day. Heroes like Nightwing, Robin and others close to Batman came to pay their respects to their mentor and friend. Members of the Justice League, most notably Wonder Woman, the Flash and the Green Lantern, had also made it a point to attend the day's proceedings. Several criminals had been released from Arkham Asylum for the funeral of their arch nemesis. The Riddler, Catwoman, and even Mr. Freeze were among the citizens in attendance, but one character everyone expected to see was obviously missing in the crowd.

In his solitary cell, deep inside the walls of Arkham Asylum, the villainous Joker, normally bouncing with energy, sat paralyzed in a small wooden chair facing the window. He had been like that since his triumphant return to Arkham Asylum at midnight the night before. The guards were not shocked to see the Joker arrive; oftentimes he would escape from Arkham only to come back on his own a short time later claiming to be in need of a relaxing vacation. But this time was different. The gleam in his eyes and the bounce in his step were obviously gone. He stared out his window blankly, as if he were waiting for someone to arrive that he knew would never come. His doctors claim that he has become unresponsive and catatonic. It is as if he is waiting to see the Bat Signal in the sky, or hear his arch enemy break down his door and command his attention. But he knows that will never happen again; he knows that the Batman is dead.

Six decorated police officers, including Gotham's own Commissioner James W. Gordon, carried Batman's closed casket onto a raised platform in the center of Gotham Square. They leaned the casket against a specially made stand and opened it for all to see. Inside, the Batman stood in full regalia, just as the people remembered. His mask still covered his face and his symbol shone brightly. The blood had been cleaned from his suit out of respect for the long-time protector of Gotham's inhabitants. His eyes were closed but his face still retained a hint of the color that it had in life and so the Batman looked more like a wax statue than a corpse. Commissioner Gordon wiped a tear from his eye with a handkerchief and approached the microphone slowly. Gordon cleared his throat and began to unravel the piece of paper on which he had written his speech.

"Good evening, Citizens of Gotham City and beyond; thank you for coming here today to pay respect to the man who protected us, even when we asked him not to. I would like to start today's proceedings by informing you that, despite popular belief, we will not be removing the Batman's mask. He was a hero to us all, and we will not belittle what he stood for so that you photographer's can get a cheap thrill and sell a few newspapers. On a more personal note, the Batman was-"

"Look up there," a child started. "What is that?"

"Its a bird!" an elderly gentleman cried.

"No, it's a plane!" a young woman shouted.

Like a feather falling from the heavens, a figure descended from the skies without a sound. It started as a blue speck, but then bits of red could be seen flickering in the wind. As it approached the people below, the object's decent slowed and finally a tall muscular fellow landed lightly on the platform to the right of the commissioner. The man standing before them was recognized by all as Superman, the Earth's greatest protector. The Man of Steel passed behind Gordon and the crowd watched in silence as he walked to the casket and knelt before Batman, offering a silent prayer for the hero. Without a word, Superman rose and moved to the microphone, placing a hand on Commissioner Gordon's shoulder. With a simple, understanding, nod, the Commissioner moved aside and allowed the Man of Steel a chance to say his own words about Batman.

"As many of you know, I was not always on good terms with Batman, but I always respected him. Batman was a hero, the likes of which this planet had never seen before and will likely never see again. I was told when I was but a boy that my father had chosen to send me to Earth because of the capacity for greatness contained deep within the human race. I was told it was my destiny to protect this planet until its people had realized their potential and lived up to it. When I saw the wars that ravaged the Earth and the way one human would take the life of his own brother, I began to doubt what my father had told me. That was until I met Batman.

"At first, I believed the Batman to be no more than a garden variety vigilante, armed with high tech machinery and a thirst for power that blinded him from the needs of others. But I came to realize that I was sorely wrong. The Batman cared for this city more than he cared for himself. He was willing to lay his life on the line, time and again, for people who would spit on him given the opportunity because he loved them unconditionally. He saw the good in the human spirit that even I was too blind to see. He was, in many ways, an inspiration to me. He was my greatest teacher and I will always hold him in the highest place in my heart.

"Look around you. Take a look at the buildings and the people you see. These sights, these people, which you see around you now, are all here through the power of the Batman. This city became what it is today because of everything the Batman stood for and fought to protect. Take in the smell, take in the sky because you are able to enjoy it today only because of the Batman. The Batman is not dead, and he never will be, so long as you do not let his memory die with him. If you let the things he stood for slip from your grasp then you will be no better than the man who shot him. The Batman is a symbol for all of humanity that one man can make a difference. Batman is the proof that one man can change the world. The Batman stands as an incorruptible symbol that one man, no matter how unassuming, may mold the world in his image and make it a better place for all. And that man is Bruce Wayne."

A hush fell over the crowd as Superman revealed to them the identity of their secret guardian and protector. Superman quickly removed the Batman's mask and laid it in the coffin at his feet. He allowed a moment for the people to take in the information that they had just received. The city was in shock, for never in their wildest dreams would they have assumed the Batman to be wealthy socialite Bruce Wayne. In the public, Wayne was known as a playboy and an idiot who invested his father's fortune in sports cars and supermodels. It seemed, to even his closest friends, that Bruce Wayne was on no level near the intellectual plateau of the World's Greatest Detective.

"Bruce Wayne suffered great tragedy as a child, but he endured. As a young man, Wayne's hardships did not cease, yet still he endured. Bruce Wayne could easily have let the needs of the many be cast aside for his own needs, but he did not. He heard his city's cry for redemption and he took up arms to save her. Bruce Wayne is the Batman; Bruce Wayne is Gotham City. Many of you, I know, are in shock and disbelief when you see that the hero in front of you is but a normal man. Take not from this experience that Bruce Wayne is one of a kind, or some sort of deviation from the norm. Realize when you look upon his face, that any one of you has the ability to be a hero. See in yourself the ability to be more than just a mindless drone.

"Perhaps you will not be a costumed vigilante or some other form of heroic crime fighter, but each of you has the ability to make this world a better place. Take others' feelings into consideration when making decisions that affect those around you. Think twice before you steal from another person, or lie to a close friend. Each day affords new opportunities to be better people and stand for something greater than ourselves.

"If you take nothing from this experience, realize that people like me and the Batman will not be here to watch over you forever. One day we will be gone and you will be left to fend for yourselves. One day soon the people of this planet will be called to action and forced to realize their own potential or perish. Take a moment to ask yourself a simple question: will you be ready when that day arrives? Would you be ready if that day were tomorrow, or the next?

"Now I will take leave of you, and allow you to mourn the loss of this icon and hero in your own way. But I must beseech you and request that you allow me to give the Batman a hero's send-off. A true hero like Bruce Wayne does not deserve an eternity of rotting in the earth. Let me take him to the heavens, where he will float among the stars and the heroes of yore. Let me lift his body to the sky, and let the Gods guide him into their arms."

The people began to applaud and cheer loudly at Superman's emotionally touching words. There were no flashbulbs going off or pictures being taken depicting Bruce Wayne inside the coffin, because even the black hearted paparazzi knew where the line was and chose not to cross it. There were tears of joy streaming down the faces of all in attendance when Superman closed the coffin and began to take flight. As Superman drifted out of sight, several of the attendees began to disperse in silence including those superheroes that had been spotted in the crowd. Most notable among the remaining individuals was the enigmatic vigilante Nightwing, who had been moved to tears during the ceremony.

"Commissioner," Lieutenant Harvey Bullock tapped Gordon on his shoulder.

"Yah, Harv?"

"We found Bobby Billiard's body."

"What? Where?"

"The old Ace Refinery plant. It don't look good, boss. His face is all cut up and he looks like he's been dead for more than a day now."

"Shit."

"That's not all, boss. Billiard's wife came down to the station about ten minutes ago with a box of her husband's valuables and she's got something you may wanna hear."

"What is it, Lieutenant?"

"A tape."

"What kind of tape?"

"A confession tape."


	5. The Confession

Commissioner James W. Gordon flew down the hallways of Gotham Central like a bat out of hell. He paid no regard to the people he passed or the doors he thrust open because his mind was elsewhere. As he ran up the stairs to the seventh floor, his mind raced with questions he felt needed to be asked of the widow of Bobby Billiard. Rushing out of the stairwell, he barreled down the hallway and toward his office at the end of the path. He paused outside the threshold, taking a deep breath and adjusting his tie and jacket. Just then, First Lieutenant Harvey Bullock stumbled out of the elevator, heaving and coughing in a fit. He stumbled over to his old partner and leaned against the glass.

"Why do you have to run so fast, Jim?" the overweight cop mumbled between gasps for air. With an amicable chuckle, Gordon opened the door and stepped inside.

Suzanne Billiard, the wife of the infamous Bobby Billiard, rose from her chair when she heard the door creep open. She was a beautiful woman whose youthful features belied her forty-three years. Her bright auburn hair hung down in thick curls that had obviously gone out of style years ago, yet still looked fetching on her. The thick black shadows under her puffy red eyes seemed to hold all of her age and sadness. The roots of her hair gleamed silver in the light, and it was obvious she had not died her hair in quite some time. Gordon smiled as he walked past her and Lieutenant Bullock stood up against the wall behind.

"Good evening, Missus Billiard. I am Commissioner Gordon and that is Lieutenant Bullock." Gordon reached out to shake the woman's hand and sat down in his large, leather chair. "Please take a seat, Miss-"

"Suzanne," she replied timidly, "but you may call me, Suzy."

"Thank you, Suzy and you may call me Jim." This air of friendliness brought a smile to the widow's face. She had worried at first that she would be shunned and hated, and possibly even arrested, for the atrocious act her husband had committed. "Now, Suzy, I hear that you have brought us some of your husband's belongings, is that right?"

"Yes sir, Jim." Suzanne Billiard pulled a medium sized cardboard box off the floor and set it on the Commissioner's polished mahogany desk. She began to pull out random items, such as clothes, cologne bottles and receipts. "I brought anything I could find that was clean, I didn't want to bring you his dirty underwear you see, and I even found the receipts from different purchases like the rifle-"

"I understand you found a tape with your husband's belongings, is that true?" the Commissioner asked, leading the distraught widow in his direction.

"Oh, yes, that's right here." Suzy pulled out an old silver tape recorder and set it on the desk. She pulled out a cassette tape from her purse that was marked with the date one day before the incident that made her husband famous. "Would you like me to play it for you?"

"If you would be so kind…"

"Ahem, if you are listening to this tape right now, then I must have done it. I must have killed the Batman. Before I explain why I did it, I want you to tell my wife Suzanne that I love her. Tell my son James that I haven't forgotten him, and give my little princess Abigail a kiss on the cheek. I say this because I don't believe I will live long after the deed is done. I'm sure some crazy will off me for doing what he never could or some self righteous pig will go medieval on me out of some misplaced sense of revenge. Also, I ask you to tell my family I love them because I am not an animal. I am a man, like you or you or anyone else in this crazy, mixed-up, world. Never forget that bit of information. I ain't no killer crocodile man, or some sick albino freak, I'm just plain old Bobby Billiard, a nobody from the narrows.

"Now I guess it's high time that I answer the sixty five million dollar question; why did I kill the Batman? Well I'm gonna answer your question, with a question of my own; why not? Day in and day out, all I hear are people complaining about the Batman, but no one's got the balls to do anything about it. Think back to before the Batman came to Gotham City. There was no Joker, no Penguin; not one of those freaks came here until the Batman showed up. Ask yourself, do the freaks draw out the Batman, or does the Batman draw out the freaks? And then there are those goddamn cops who call the Batman a menace to society and then light up a fucking signal to draw him out. A bunch of goddamn hypocrites, that's all they are!

"Well I ain't about to be one of those hypocrites. I agree with the rest of this city of cowards, that the Batman is a plague that must be stopped. How long do we gotta live in fear that the Batman is gonna bring out some killer who's gonna waste one of our kids or our friends? I for one ain't gonna take it any longer. I'm done with it. I'm gonna do something the cops in this town should have done a long ass time ago.

"I'm gonna kill the Batman.

"Now I know it sounds crazy; I mean a nobody like me, offing the Batman? HA! But every famous person started out as nothing. Einstein was a patent clerk for crying out loud but now EVERYBODY knows his name. And think about Lee Harvey Oswald or James Earl Ray; both of them were nobodies until they killed someone who was larger than life. And then there is me; Bobby Billiard, the mail clerk. If I died today, nobody would know my name, but if I die tomorrow everyone will know my name. To have that kind of power makes me God…

"By now I'm sure you know I worked in the mayor's office, but I'm gonna give you a little treat. I'm gonna tell you how I found out about tomorrow. You see, I've been a mail clerk in the mayor's office for twenty years now and I work unsupervised. I saw the mayor had a letter to be sent to the governor, and I had a special feeling about this one. So I opened it; but I didn't just tear the seal because that would be too obvious and I couldn't go to prison yet. It wasn't time. So I used a heat lamp to burn the sealant and open the letter without a trace. I saw the mayor's plans for tomorrow and I knew what I had to do. She wrote that she was keeping it a secret and so I knew nobody would be expecting anything. So I bought me a gun and tomorrow I'm gonna rent me a loft and I'm gonna shoot the Batman. And there ain't nothing you can do about it!"

The breathing on the tape suddenly became quicker and more frightened. Bobby Billiard seemed tenser now than at any other point on the tape.

"I'm gonna let you in on a little secret, folks. Now, I ain't gonna go back and change what my plans now. I'm gonna kill the Batman no matter what. But as I watch that clock tick closer and closer, I'll admit I'm getting a little bit scared. Now don't get me confused, I ain't scared of y'all and I ain't scared of death, but I'm scared I may be making the wrong decision. But then I guess I'll never know, will I?

"I love you Suzanne. Sincerely, Bobby Billiard, the man who killed Batman…"


End file.
